HOMEWARD BOUND
Thanks to the restoratives given him and the nursing he received while
on the journey, the doctor recovered consciousness before they reached
the hospital. He did not seem to care about himself, but gave very
minute directions regarding Pep.
“He stuck by me like a brother and saved my life, and I want him to
have every care that any wounded soldier would get. I want his leg put
in splints, and the best surgeon in the hospital to dress it every day.
You may think he is nothing but a dog, but I tell you he is a soldier
and deserves a soldier’s care.”
After that the doctor lapsed into silence and let things take their
course. He knew instinctively that everything would be done for him,
but he was not so sure about Pep. Some people appreciated dogs and
some didn’t. He did not want any slight put on his little chum, now
they had been through so much together.
So it was finally arranged that they should occupy the same ward; or,
rather, Pep was given a rug to lie on under a small table at the head
of the doctor’s bed. He was very comfortable here so near his beloved
master.
The doctor, as he lay drowsing, would often hear the dog give deep
sighs of content as he settled down in a more comfortable position on
his rug.
The slightest movement on the part of the doctor would set the dog’s
tail wagging. Every hour or so he would go to the bedside and reach his
head up for a little petting. Then he would kiss his master’s hand, and
they would tell each other in dog and man language, which was half sign
and half speech, how much they loved each other.
Every morning when the surgeon made his rounds, he would speak to Pep
and attend to his splints in the presence of his master. If Pep was
feeling especially good, he would consent to follow the surgeon on
his visit down the ward, stopping critically at the bedside of each
patient, and watching proceedings narrowly. But he always returned
quickly to his master’s bedside once the surgeon had made his rounds.
Pep seemed to think that it was a part of his duty to look out for the
poor soldiers now that his master could not.
It was a joyous day for Pep when his master could finally hobble about
the hospital on two canes. They went from ward to ward talking and
joking with the men. Everywhere they were greeted as heroes. The doctor
always had to tell the story of Pep’s long, faithful vigil in the woods
on that hideous night. This would make the soldiers look hard at Pep
and stroke his head and tell him that he was a good old sport and that
they were proud of him.
One day about three weeks after they had returned to the hospital, the
doctor received a letter from home and he and Pep retired to a quiet
room to read it together.
“Here, old pal, you climb up into my lap. Be careful and don’t hurt my
leg. I’ve got a letter. It’s from the little woman.”
When he had opened the missive and spread it out, the doctor let Pep
smell it and from the delighted wags of his tail and a glad bark that
he gave, the physician was sure that he recognized the scent of his
mistress’s hand on the paper.
“It nearly broke her heart,” explained the doctor, “to know that both
her soldiers were wounded. It has taken a great load from her to
receive the second cable, saying that I am out of danger. She doesn’t
mind if we are lame and crippled, if she can only get us back, Pep.”
The dog was so excited about the letter that he constantly nosed and
sniffed at it, so that it was difficult for his master to read it, but
finally the end with worlds of love for them both was reached.
It was strange, thought the doctor, as he folded the letter and put it
away, how this bit of paper had moved him. He had been through so much
since coming to France, that he was not quite himself, but there was
another consideration also. He had come so near to losing everything
there in the Argonne Forest that life and home and loved ones had
become doubly dear. He had often seen strong men weep like babies when
they received letters from home. It had seemed strange to him that they
should be so moved, but now he understood.
Two weeks more at the hospital went by and both master and dog improved
rapidly. Finally the doctor was able to give up one cane, while Pep had
his splint removed and his master declared that he would soon be as
good as new.
It was about that time the division general visited the hospital.
He brought with him the government’s reward for bravery. In the
presence of the superintendent of the hospital, he pinned a cross for
distinguished service on Pep’s master’s coat.
“I wouldn’t be here at all to receive the cross, general,” said the
delighted surgeon, “if it had not been for that dog.” The general asked
for Pep’s story and the doctor told it.
“Wish I had a handful of crosses for dogs,” said the general at the
conclusion of the story. “I would certainly give him one. Here is some
money. Get him the finest collar that money can buy and mark it from
General Blank, as a mark of his appreciation of distinguished service.”
With these words the general shook the doctor’s hand, and after
stroking Pep’s head went on his way, carrying cheer to the deserving
soldiers in the hospital. As he went from ward to ward, he felt that
all were deserving of the little crosses, but some were luckier than
others.
The next day the doctor and Pep went out shopping and bought the best
collar to be found in the city and had it engraved as the General had
directed. When they returned, Pep went through the wards exhibiting his
collar. He was a very proud dog. Of course he did not just know what it
was all about, but he felt quite sure that he had done something fine,
and that these good men all knew it. So if wagging of his tail would
show his appreciation, he certainly expressed his own feeling on the
whole matter.
After two more pleasant weeks at the hospital they were discharged and
the doctor packed up his earthly belongings, which were few, and made
ready to sail. The great ship on which they had come across was loading
in the harbor and they did not intend to get left.
So one evening they made a final round of the wards and said good-by
to all their friends. Then they were spirited away to the wharf in a
taxicab.
They should have gone like heroes, with bands playing and flags flying,
but the exigencies of war forbade such publicity. Instead they went in
the dead of night, with lights all out so that they could not even see
Old Glory at the masthead. Thus they slipped out of the harbor into the
broad Atlantic.
When the sun came up the following morning, the great ship was far out
at sea. It was a wonderful morning of blue sky and rolling billows and
fresh wind. The entire scene suggested nothing but peace.
And best of all, the ship was homeward bound. Home, home, home, sang
the waves as they slipped under the bow, and the winds sang home in the
rigging. But the weary hearts of the passengers sang home louder than
the winds or the waves.
Probably the two most entirely happy passengers on the ship were Pep
and the doctor as they walked on the hurricane deck and watched the
waves and the sky.
There were no other passengers on the deck and the doctor talked to Pep
as was his wont when they were alone, and the dog, delighted with this
confidence, cocked his ears and listened intently to catch every word.
“It’s a great thing, Pep, old sport, to be alive after what we have
gone through.”
“That’s so,” wagged Pep.
“Those Boches nearly got us both, old Pal, but we finally gave them the
slip.”
“So we did,” sniffed the dog.
“Do you know we are going home to the little woman, Pep? Home, Pep,
home. We are going home.”
The dog saw that a climax in their joy had been reached so he barked
gladly, at which the doctor laughed like a boy.
It was just at this point in their confidential conversation that
Hilda and her father came on deck. The doctor, who had not known that
they were aboard, greeted them joyously, while Pep fairly wagged his
tail off at the sight of his little playmate. Soon the two were racing
up and down the deck in the finest kind of a romp. This was after Hilda
had heard the story of Pep’s bravery and spelled out the inscription on
his new collar.
“Come, Pep,” said Hilda. “Let’s you and I sit here on this steamer rug
and visit while our fathers talk and smoke. I mean while my father and
your master visit. I haven’t hurt your feelings by saying he was not
your father, have I?” inquired Hilda. “I wouldn’t hurt the feelings of
such a brave dog for the whole world.”
Pep assured her with several warm dog kisses fairly upon the lips that
his feelings were not hurt and she once more read the inscription on
the collar.
“I’m awfully proud of you, Pep,” said Hilda. “You are as brave as
a soldier. Do you know I always remember you in my prayers? That is
because you saved my life. I say, ‘Please, God, keep Pep and give him
lots of bones to eat.’”
The terrier wagged his appreciation. Of course he did not know what she
was saying, but he knew it was something good, and he must remember his
manners and be appreciative. So he wagged and kissed and rubbed his
cheek against hers.
“I think this is the very best morning I ever saw,” said Hilda with a
sigh of perfect rapture.
“So do I,” agreed Pep with a short, glad bark.
“Let’s be friends always,” said Hilda, hugging the dog to her breast.
“All right,” sniffed Pep, showering her face with dog kisses, “forever
and forever.”
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
End of Project Gutenberg's Pep: The Story of a Brave Dog, by Clarence Hawkes